


Music Is The Best Medicine For The Children Of Meteors

by 13Kat13



Series: Cosmic Siren Song Playlist [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Space, Background Otayuri, Captain!Victor, Care giving, Fluff, Lilia Baranovskaya mention, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Science Fiction, Sickfic, Siren!Yuuri, i am such a sucker for a sickfic, like in a sickfic way, lots of soft feels, smol angst but not really, there if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 09:11:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13784331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/13Kat13/pseuds/13Kat13
Summary: "Yuuri’s voice is thick with sleep. It’s also scratchy with something far more concerning. He struggles to remain conscious for a few moments, but then seems to give up and sinks back down. Victor feels like he’s about to fly directly through the nearest window in shower of glass and panic.“Otabek!” he half shrieks into his watch, before realising that it’s on speaker to the entire ship and his voice will be ringing through every room."Third instalment to the Space Siren AU. We got them sickfic fluff feels heavy this week my dudes.





	Music Is The Best Medicine For The Children Of Meteors

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I don't think this is the space for this sort of thing at all, but after the week I've had... vaccines are important. Your ideology is irrelevant to me when someone very close to me, who relies on the herd immunity vaccines give us, is now suffering from an illness that should've long been wiped out but isn't because of... yeah. I realise this opinion could make you uncomfortable and you may not want to engage with this fic because of it, but I'm pretty Done to be honest.
> 
> After that little rant, I'd like to say this series and writing in general for me is a haven, and every comment, kudos, bookmark and subscription means the world. Honestly, thank you.
> 
> Now I'll let the void gays speak for themselves.

Yuuri has his vaccines on their resumed journey to the Starbase Johanosvik. Obviously, Victor handles this without any of the steel he’s displayed on many life threatening missions, and is a hot mess. The Captain insists on being present for each vaccination, hovering nervously whilst Otabek keeps an eye on the effects.

 

It’s the only blot on an otherwise easy couple of weeks. Yuuri’s settled, properly now. He has a routine of video calling his family with the help of Victor’s pad, which Victor hardly uses anyway thanks to his lap-holo so may as well be Yuuri’s, and the tech they left for the Katsukis. Victor’s come in a few times to find his quarters lit by rapid flashes of blue light as Yuuri grins at the screen. Though sometimes there’s no display at all, just hushed words and the comfort of a childhood home.

 

The first batch of vaccines go by without a hitch but after the second, on the morning they enter the Starbase’s orbit, Victor finds it difficult to wake Yuuri.

 

The siren had been hot during the night. Victor comes to consciousness with what feels like a small, clingy radiator pressed against him, because no matter his temperature Yuuri will always wrap himself around Victor in his sleep. Victor, smiling and thinking nothing of it, extracts himself to shower and dresses in his uniform before returning to wake Yuuri.

 

At first, Victor’s as charmed as ever by his sleeping siren. Yuuri’s hair always goes into a fluffy mess as he sleeps, slicked back look long gone as he burrows deep into the duvet. But this morning his face is flushed and there’s an unnerving rattle to the breaths he’s drawing.

 

“Yuuri love?” Victor says, bending to touch Yuuri’s shoulder, the beginnings of unease creeping up his spine.

 

The siren sleeps on, but his eyes flutter fitfully for a moment.

 

“Yuuri?” Victor tries again, voice a little tight as he gives Yuuri’s shoulder a gentle shake. He’s still very warm to the touch.

 

The siren doesn’t respond for a few moments more, but when he does blink his eyes open, they are unfocused and distant.

 

“Vitya?”

 

Yuuri’s voice is thick with sleep. It’s also scratchy with something far more concerning. He struggles to remain conscious for a few moments, but then seems to give up and sinks back down. Victor feels like he’s about to fly directly through the nearest window in shower of glass and panic.

 

“Otabek!” he half shrieks into his watch, before realising that it’s on speaker to the entire ship and his voice will be ringing through every room. He adjusts the settings with a shaky hand just as Otabek’s call comes through.

 

“Yes, Captain?”

 

The Chief Medical Officer sounds unflustered as ever, despite just being summoned through every intercom on board.

 

“Yuuri,” Victor says desperately, watching the uneven, hitching breaths Yuuri’s taking as he slumbers on. “He’s not right, I can’t get him to wake up properly.”

 

“I’ll be right up, don’t move him,” Otabek responds, sounding reassuringly serious.

 

“Thank you, Altin,” Victor says on the gush of an exhale, managing to snatch back some professionalism in the conversation.

 

Moments later Otabek is in Victor’s bedroom and bent over Yuuri. Victor hovers behind him, feeling useless and on edge.

 

“Yuuri?” Otabek says, gently coaxing the siren awake with gentle nudges.

 

Yuuri mumbles something, then opens his eyes. He looks up at Otabek with the same distant, fogged gaze he gave Victor.

 

“Vitya?” he croaks, just like the first time he awoke. His eyes widen at the sound of his own voice and he lets out an experimental note that flashes with a pale, quavering blue light. It dies quickly.

 

Victor makes a little keening noise, unable to keep it in, and the siren turns towards the sound. Otabek must be partly blocking his view, or Yuuri needs his monocle set, because next moment he’s struggling to sit upright so he can see Victor. Otabek’s quick to help him, easing the jerky, pained movements Yuuri is making as he props pillows up for Yuuri to sit against.

 

Yuuri nods gratefully, but the effort of moving causes a bout of coughing that racks his body and leaves him spluttering and red faced. Victor’s already climbed on the bed before the fit ends.

 

Yuuri settles back against the pillows as he catches his breath. He’s obviously scared by the trouble his voice is having. It doesn’t matter that Yuuri’s safe here, doesn’t need the weapon of his singing, Victor knows he’s wondering what a siren _is_ without their voice. His hand has fallen to the side and Victor automatically takes it.

 

It’s a funny sort of fear this. Of course Yuuri’s tested Victor’s courage in ways he’d never dreamed of, tossing everything the Captain has learnt at the academy and in his years in space out the window, so Victor passes siren related missions by the seat of his pants. But this fear, this is new.

 

Yuuri is limp where he lies. His hair’s still in the fluffy disarray of sleep, and he seems to be struggling to keep his eyes open. Yuuri’s head also seems a little too heavy for his neck, and Victor quickly readjusts the pillow pile to accommodate its weight. Yuuri manages to smile sleepily at him and pat his hand. Victor’s stomach makes a valiant effort to join his heart, which seems to have lodged itself in his throat.

 

Otabek has his silver case out. He’s propped it open on the little table on Yuuri’s side of the bed and is withdrawing a thermometer. He unobtrusively tucks this under Yuuri’s arm as the siren starts to drift back off, gently pulling the sleeve of the oversized t-shirt he’s wearing to the side. The t-shirt happens to be one of Victor’s. It’s sweet that Yuuri still likes wearing them even though he has his own clothes now. Victor tries to focus on that, rather than the funny way Yuuri’s chest is moving beneath the fabric.

 

After a moment, Otabek removes the thermometer and frowns at it.

 

“What is it?” Victor asks, a slightly desperate edge to his voice.

 

“It’s higher than what I’ve recorded from him previously,” Otabek replies, sterilising the thermometer before packing it away. “But it wouldn’t be overly worrying in a human. We are of course only just finding out how similar our biologies are, but I think we can try and draw some of the same conclusions whilst he’s in our atmosphere. As for how his body handles the freezing temperatures of space is something Seung-Gil and I are still working out.”

 

Victor realises that the Doctor seems to have drifted a little from the original point, which is very unlike Otabek, and that he’s talking a lot more than he usually does.

 

“This is probably a reaction to one of the vaccines,” Otabek continues, drawing out a blood sample kit and taking Yuuri’s arm. “Some people have reactions too.”

 

Victor’s trying to take comfort in the familiarity with which Otabek is talking about Yuuri’s supposed diagnosis. His Chief Medical Officer knows what he’s doing, it doesn’t matter that Otabek’s not familiar with Yuuri’s biology.

 

But the fear is still there.

 

“Did he show any signs he wasn’t feeling well before this morning?” Otabek asks as he works.

 

He pricks Yuuri’s arm for the sample and the siren moans in his sleep, his head turning to flop to the side. His hair is brushed over his forehead, hazel tones picked out among the black by the room’s morning light setting. Victor reaches out and pushes it gently back. Yuuri chases his touch unconsciously, his head turning with it. Victor aches.

 

“Last night,” Victor says, voice hushed as he reevaluates what had been a nice evening. “He had a headache, but he said it was because he was just… tired.”

 

It hurts that Victor hadn’t pressed further, he knows Yuuri’s tendency to downplay his own distress after all.

 

“I’ll take this back and analyse it,” Otabek explains, cutting across Victor’s thoughts as he stands to pack his case away. “In the meantime he’ll need to be monitored. I don’t want to move him whilst he’s comfortable, but of course I trust you to watch him well enough. Give him one of these for his throat when he wakes.”

 

Otabek leaves some generic brand painkillers on the side and a smile for Victor. The expression is rare from Otabek and takes Victor a little by surprise. He realises then that all the talk from the usually stoic man is to distract him, that Otabek’s giving them his best bedside manner. Victor could really hug him right now.

 

“Will you let me know as soon as you have something?” Victor asks, and realises that as Captain he doesn’t really have to ask. But there’s a crack in his voice, possibly brought about by Otabek’s kindness and the way Victor’s gaze can’t help but be drawn back to the siren’s sleeping face.

 

“Of course, Captain,” Otabek agrees, and his tone is still softly serious. “I really think he’ll be okay though. At present, this has all the signs of a fever that’ll burn itself out.”

 

Victor thanks him, his tongue feeling heavy, and stays with Yuuri as Otabek sees himself out. It’s a moment before Victor realises he was supposed to see the ship into landing on the Starbase, that he has to report in to Lilia, that he’s supposed to be the Captain.

 

Victor calls Chris and hands all of his responsibilities over to his First Officer. Then he flops down beside his siren and watches him sleep.

 

* * *

 

A handful of hours later Victor has changed into the casual clothes of his off duty attire and is standing in his kitchen. He’s been checking on Yuuri routinely and the soup on the stove is just starting to heat, the sides a mess of vegetable peelings. He could’ve got something from the canteen, but this is what his mother used to make him when he was sick and now he’s going to make it for Yuuri. He dolops a large scoop of sour cream into the pan and stirs.

 

Speaking of his mother, his watch lights up with a call. Victor hooks his earpiece out of his pocket and without checking the caller ID, slides it into place.

 

“Nikiforov speaking.”

 

“Vitka, why am I hearing from Lilia rather than my own son that you will be in Johanosvik and have every chance to see your mother?”

 

Vasilisa Nikiforova’s voice comes sharp and amused into Victor’s ear, always bringing a wave of emotions with it that make the cold void of space outside seem very far away. He’s back on the couch with her, telling stories and getting unasked for but valuable advice. He’s looking for his socks only for his mother to point them out in the _exact_ spot he’s been searching in for the last fifteen minutes. And he’s home, home with a family that loves him even though home now has a new meaning in Yuuri.

 

“Mama,” Victor sighs, the warmth of these emotions in his voice.

 

“Hello, Vitka,” his mother replies, easy and affectionate. “How are you?”

 

There’s a torn moment that happens in him then; the swoop of joy that comes with the knowledge that he can tell her now, he has time to. But it’s marred by the lovely thing he wants to pour his praises out for lying hot, shivering, and unconscious in the adjacent room. It feels very real when he has his mother asking, unpicking his emotions as only mothers can.

 

“Vitka?”

 

“I’ve mentioned Yuuri to you, haven’t I, Mama?” Victor starts, bottling this feeling up along with the sour cream to put it firmly away.

 

“Briefly,” Vasilisa says, a hint of annoyance in her voice because even she must’ve heard the weight of the name even though Victor’s only mentioned it on too short calls.

 

“Yes, well,” Victor says, feeling sixteen again. “We’re together now. Like permanently.”

 

“How permanent are we talking?” And there’s worry in her voice now, and Victor knows why.

 

Victor’s always been a romantic. Although he wasn’t able to pursue it, he longs for love with the same fervour that made him the face of Space Fleet. Vasilisa had seen his diary after all, the one he’d bought as a young teen. Leather bound with his name printed by a careful hand on the inside cover, because that’s what Victor thought you did for all your most desperate thoughts. Although she hadn’t read it, Victor had told her what went into it.

 

_“All the things I want in life,”_ a thirteen year old him had said.

 

_“And what’s that, sunbeam?”_ his mother had asked, half turned from her desk, engineering sketches scattered before her in an array of lines and half formed invention.

 

_“Happiness… love.”_ He’d shrugged like it was no big deal, not meeting her eye, but of course they both knew.

 

“Very permanent,” he says in the present, before racing to stem the motherly outpouring of fear that’ll no doubt be forming in his Vasilisa’s throat. “But it’s okay, Mama, he loves me too. He’s so wonderful, honestly I’m so lucky.”

 

There’s a beat before Vasilisa answers, but when she does there’s cautious joy in her voice.

 

“Well then I’m happy for you both,” she says, and something releases with a snap in Victor’s chest. He takes a breath.

 

“Is it a problem though?” his mother asks next, no doubt unable to help herself from seeing every threat to her boy. “With the council and your mission, are you both okay?”

 

And Victor’s overjoyed that the question isn’t just for him, but there’s a little something for Yuuri in there too. And of course Lilia had given his mother the whole background vista, letting Victor plop their new relationship into her mind how he wants to. By talking about the emotional investment of it.

 

“We’re fine, Mama,” he reassures her, stirring the soup after a long pause in which he’d only had room for his mother’s words. “It’s hard to tell what the Council will do yet, they’re not always my biggest fans. But with the atrocities we’ve inflicted upon Yuuri’s kind without even knowing it, they’re going to have to be lenient if they want to have peace. But he… Mama, Yuuri’s sick.”

 

There’s a muffled thud at the other end of the phone and Victor has time for the instant regret of his phrasing to stab him in the chest.

 

“Vitka, how sick —?”

 

“It’s okay, I’m sorry I should’ve explained properly,” Victor hurries to cut her off, stops the memories and the pain from rushing in.

 

Because Vasilisa Nikiforova knows the burden of illness’ touch on a lover.

 

“Yuuri’s just had his vaccines,” he explains, and realises now he’s stirring the soup too much, jerky movements sloshing a little up the edge of the pan. He makes himself stop. “So he can come to Johanosvik, be around more people and not contract anything.”

 

“Okay…” Vasilisa says, clearly backpedalling from where her mind went but withholding until she has all the facts.

 

“He had a reaction to one of them,” Victor goes on. “Is getting the side effects quite severely, a temperature and a sore throat mostly. Headache too.”

 

“Oh.” And Victor can hear the full relief in the sigh that word comes on. He’d really like to be able to hug her right now. “Well that can happen, Vitka. It’s not nice but fairly normal, yes?”

 

“Mm…” Victor agrees with a large pinch of disbelief in his tone.

 

“Vitka,” his mother says, in that gentle but firm tone Yuuri’s used on him too when he’s overworking or over worrying. “It _is_ normal. I’ve met your Chief Medical Officer too, remember? Otabek Altin is a very capable man.”

 

“Yes, he is,” Victor agrees, letting the spoon fall against the lip of the pan with a sigh. He turns the heat down and watches the thick bubbles in the soup’s surface lessen, trying to let the words sink in. They mean a lot more said in his mother’s voice. “You’re right. I’m sure it’ll be okay.”

 

“Yeah?” she double checks, making Victor smile in a final balm to his nerves.

 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Anyway, I have to go, Mama. I’m making that soup of yours and I want Yuuri to get some food in him soon. He hasn’t eaten yet.”

 

“Okay, sunbeam,” Vasilia replies, just as another, croakier voice calls his name from the bedroom. His heart swells. Yuuri’s awake. “Send your boy my love and make sure you eat something yourself.”

 

“Will do, Mama, love you, bye.”

 

Victor slightly cuts off his mother’s farewell as he hurries to turn the soup off completely so he can go to Yuuri.

 

“Vitya?”

 

Yuuri’s scratchy, faint voice comes from behind him. Victor whirls to see the siren standing in the doorway to the bedroom, peering sleepily at him. He’s not wearing his glasses and is still in Victor’s t-shirt.

 

“Hi love,” Victor says, abandoning the stove and rushing to him.

 

Yuuri starts forward too, but then his eyes go sort of wide and unseeing and he sways a little where he stands.

 

Victor, who had just started to feel calm after his phone call, feels a lurch of panic as he races to cross the room in time to catch Yuuri as he stumbles.

 

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Victor realises he’s saying, his arms caught about Yuuri’s waist as the siren just collapses into him.

 

He has to remind himself that he’s here, that he has Yuuri and that the siren probably just stood up too quickly. Victor leads him over to the couch, soup momentarily forgotten.

 

Yuuri has started shuddering violently, so Victor turns into a blur as he fetches the pills Otabek left, and a blanket from the hollow seat beneath his window to drape over Yuuri’s shoulders. Yuuri hums in thanks and downs the pill without even checking what it is.

 

Then he watches Victor as he adjusts the blanket around him, expression slowly shifting to one of careful consideration. Victor just smiles back at him, wondering what he should offer next. This makes a pleased, responding smile unfurl across Yuuri’s mouth.

 

“You’re pretty,” Yuuri sighs suddenly, and settles back against the couch as though he’s always this free with his thoughts.

 

Victor feels his face turn red faster than Phichit seeking out sugar in a food court. Yuuri just continues to smile a little dopily up at him.

 

“Thank you, love,” Victor manages eventually, bending to unnecessarily fuss over the blanket arrangement some more. “But I’m not as pretty as you. How’re you feeling?”

 

Yuuri doesn’t respond immediately, too busy watching Victor’s hands, and when they withdraw, Victor’s face.

 

“Cold,” Yuuri croaks then, and frowns. “Sore throat.”

 

“Oh dear, my sun,” Victor huffs empathetically, settling beside Yuuri and looping an arm around his waist.

 

Yuuri looks pleased by this for a moment before he frowns.

 

“I need…” Yuuri seems to forget what he needs for a moment, or perhaps the Russian to go with it. Victor tries not to find it adorable. “I need to brush my teeth.”

 

“Of course,” Victor says, springing up and hushing Yuuri as he goes to follow him. “I’ll get it for you, cub.”

 

Victor hurries off and fetches Yuuri’s toothbrush, toothpaste and a glass of water from the bathroom. Yuuri had adapted to teeth brushing fairly well. From what Victor’s understood, sirens clean their teeth through some kind of freezing process and ground up minerals. He’s not too sure of the details and doesn’t know if he wants to be.

 

Yuuri needs to be coaxed through the task slightly — he keeps on getting distracted by Victor — but eventually they manage it.

 

Yuuri’s not too sure about the soup either when Victor brings it over, and abandons it halfway in favour of taking hold of Victor’s face so he can get a closer look at it. Victor’s all too pleased to allow the exploration of his eyes, then his hair, then his mouth to happen. Yuuri presses his fingertips to Victor’s lips and makes a pleased noise at whatever the result is. Then the siren cuddles into his side and Victor turns the holo-screen on.

 

The new appearance of this addled but downright squeal-worthy Yuuri is not as startling as the barely conscious, weak siren that Victor awoke to this morning.

 

That’s not to say that Yuuri isn’t still out of it; the siren quickly passes out as Victor browses the his film collection for something to watch. But Yuuri’s calm, and the breaths he’s taking as he lays with his head on Victor’s shoulder are crackling, but a little looser than the tight little gasps of earlier. God bless Otabek and his pills.

 

Half way through the first film, Victor gives up on paying attention and instead watches Yuuri sleep. Victor’s lowered him so that Yuuri’s laying more comfortably in his lap, and is brushing his fingers slowly through the inky black locks. Occasionally Yuuri will mumble slightly, his brow furrowing, but he calms at Victor’s touch. It’s _still_ like having a little radiator pressed against him.

 

And it’s funny, to care this much for something. Chris had commented on it too. His best friend’s never seen Victor attached. There had been flirting and the occasional lean into something that could’ve been a relationship, but even that was rare once he’d graduated from the academy. Too many missions and too much notoriety for something real in between. Now there’s this; a devotion that has etched itself into Victor’s marrow and claimed sovereignty over him. He is always and forever Yuuri’s.

 

Their peace is disturbed by a loud and insistent buzzing at Victor’s door. Yuuri startles awake, disoriented and confused, and Victor hushes and resettles him before going to answer.

 

He passes through his office, on edge and annoyed at the intrusion, and opens the door to a shifty and equally annoyed Yuri Plisetsky. He spies the guilty face of Phichit behind him.

 

“Sorry, Captain,” Phichit says, bouncing nervously on his toes. “I told him I was coming up to see Yuuri and he insisted on coming too.”

 

“I did not insist,” Yuri spits, trying not to look like he’s straining to see around Victor. “I just wanted to check that the flying idiot hasn’t died or something.”

 

Victor, feeling something release in him as he glimpses the look of concern Yuri’s fighting to keep off his face, softens. He spies the paper bag in the boy’s grip

 

“Yuuri’s okay,” he says, making Yuri pause his efforts to see further inside. “Would you like to see him? He’s pretty out of it.”

 

“Sure,” Yuri grumbles with a shrug, just before Phichit barrels past him on his way into Victor’s rooms.

 

Victor and Yuri follow at a more sedate pace, finding the navigator perched on the couch with Yuuri, fussing over him. Phichit’s bought one of his hamsters with him, something Victor didn’t spot and is not sure he would’ve allowed in had he known about. But it’s too late now, what with Yuuri cuddling the fat little thing to his chest.

 

“Oh and you’re far too warm, Yuu-bug,” Phichit is saying, holding a hand to Yuuri’s forehead as the siren smiles sleepily at him. “Is there anything I can get you?”

 

“Tea please,” Yuuri says, voice still scratchy although it doesn’t appear to be paining him anymore.

 

Victor had tried to learn the art of the siren equivalent of tea of course, because it seemed mean a lot to Yuuri. But the special flakes used for it look and taste like lichen grown somewhere gloomy and dank, and they don’t behave the same way when added to water in gravity. Phichit, the swine, manages to perfect it pretty much instantly despite these difficulties.

 

But as the navigator springs up to go fetch Yuuri’s set Victor can only feel grateful to him.

 

Something in Yuuri lights up further when Victor rejoins him on the couch, and the Captain returns his smile. Yuuri swivels his head to keep him in his sights, then looks pleased as Victor lays a hand on his thigh.

 

Phichit, returning with the tea set, sees this and a looks delighted by the open, unabashed Yuuri they’re getting. Victor can sympathise but doesn’t like the suspicious angle of Phichit’s wrist as he tilts his watch towards them. Victor will of course confiscate any photo of Yuuri whilst he’s unaware and a little dopey. And he will obviously not keep it for himself.

 

Yuri sulks by the door for a moment, before striding over and looking down at Yuuri. Yuuri, startled, simply blinks up at him for a few moments, before reaching out and patting the Officer’s arm. Victor hides a smile as Yuri flushes and tries not to look too pleased by this.

 

“I came to see if you’re alive,” Yuri says gruffly, looking like he wants to set the couch on fire as he glares at it. “Mission accomplished so I’ll be off. Also I bought these.”

 

He thrusts the bag of what Victor guesses are pirozhki in Yuuri’s face, before tossing them unceremoniously behind him onto the coffee table. They narrowly miss the teapot that has been filled with instantly hot water. Phichit scowls.

 

Yuuri, still cradling who Victor thinks might be The Honourable Sir Peanuts in one hand, seems to be taking a long time considering Yuri’s words. But after a moment, he beams up at the boy.

 

“Thank you, Yurio,” Yuuri says, not noticing the responding grumble over the nickname. “Stay safe if you’re going outside, I know how fast you like to go in cruisers.”

 

Victor and Phichit’s laughter is loud as Yuri just stands there, outraged.

 

“I think Yurio’s okay in a cruiser, love,” Victor chuckles, folding Yuuri under his arm.

 

Yuuri makes a sort of chirping noise as he happily settles back against Victor’s chest.

 

“You’re damn right I am,” Yuri huffs, and flops down in an armchair despite his declaration of departure. “I’d beat Victor if he’d race me.”

 

Victor, who’d been distracted as Yuuri arranges himself under his arm, arches a perfect brow at this.

 

“That’s cute, Yura,” he says, making the teenager’s face turn a dangerous shade of purple. “It’s nice that you still look up to me after all this time.”

 

“I do NOT —”

 

“What did Otabek say about Yuuri?” Phichit interrupts, derailing a potential argument between the Captain and Officer without even looking up from the tea he’s preparing.

 

The navigator finishes off a steaming cup of the pale, chalky green stuff and sits back up on the couch to hand it to Yuuri. The siren hums his thanks and takes a deep breath in, closing his eyes and no doubt thinking of home.

 

Victor, who’s having the amusing but less enjoyable experience of receiving death glares from Yuri, sombres a little before replying. “He’s suitably cautious, but not overly concerned,” he says.

 

Yuri has allowed the interruption to silence him, possibly because it included mention of the Chief Medical Officer. He does however slump further into the armchair with a scowl.

 

“He’s running tests and messaged earlier to say he thinks it may be one of the flu shots that did it,” Victor goes on, returning his attention to where it wants to be, i.e. playing with Yuuri’s hair as the siren lets his head flop back against his shoulder. “I’m just concerned with how tired Yuuri is.”

 

Yuuri’s starting to drift again, warmed by the tea and relaxed by Victor’s presence. Phichit rescues the cup before the dregs spill.

 

Victor feels his brow furrow and doesn’t dare look up at his two crew members. They don’t need to see whatever’s lurking in their Captain’s eyes in that moment.

 

“I think being tired is normal when people are sick,” Phichit says after a moment.

 

His voice is gentle, and Victor realises he doesn’t have to meet the navigator’s gaze for the boy to know what this is doing to Victor. He loves surprises, but this is far too many unknowns for Victor.

 

“Mm…” he hums noncommitedly, frowning at his hand where its trailing down Yuuri’s arm.

 

And here’s another funny thing about being with Yuuri; all these new relationships Victor’s forming in a crew he thought he was already approachable to. Over the last month, Victor’s realised that he was really only close to Chris and Mila, with some begrudging input from Yuri because of how far back they go.

 

But now there’s others; Phichit, Leo, Sara, Seung-Gil, Otabek and Georgi. And not just the senior staff, but cadets, lower ranked officers and none army staff easily drawn into Yuuri’s orbit, and therefore Victor’s.

 

It’s for this reason that by the time Yuri and Phichit are finishing up their visit, there starts up a steady stream of visitors. The crew seem to have taken the pair’s visit as permission for them all to stop by, and although Yuuri’s asleep on the couch, it doesn’t stop them from dropping off gifts and well wishes before they go on to disembark onto the Starbase.

 

Mila’s first. The Chief Security and Tactical Officer coos over the sleeping siren, brushing past Victor while thrusting flowers into his chest. The Captain manages pry her back out after a little while, but as she’s leaving he’s met by Leo at the door.

 

Leo is a little easier, handing Victor a potato bake that he swears has loads of vegetables and good things in it for Yuuri, before turning to leave straight after with Victor’s thanks.

 

Georgi is no help. The man has bought, for some reason, a flan, which he chooses not to explain as he fusses over how beautiful it is that Victor is here, at his love’s bedside throughout it all. Victor thinks he spies Yuuri wake up part way through this, but he can’t be sure as the siren appears to be firmly asleep when he next looks.

 

Sara helpfully brings along cold and flu supplies from the medbay, and deposits them into Victor’s grateful arms. She stays until Yuuri wakes, and then does a quick check up so she can save Otabek the trip.

 

Seung-Gil is the most surprising even though he’s empty handed. He comes later in the day, when he must be done with whatever captivates his interest in the lab for so many overtime hours. Whether Seung-Gil will actually visit Johanosvik whilst they’re here Victor has no idea. Unless he needs to resupply, the scientist has very little interest in anything beyond new ecosystems and whatever’s under his telescope.

 

Yuuri had been about to get in the bath as he’d awoken sticky and feeling gross, but he’s all patient smiles as he assures the slightly stiff Chief Science Officer that he’s doing okay.

 

Victor leaves them to it so he can ready the bath and save Yuuri the wait, and when he returns, Seung-Gil has gone.

 

“Thank God,” Victor sighs, making Yuuri look up and smile.

 

The siren glows a little in the dimmed lights of the room. This is probably due to the sickly sweats that have started, but he still looks glorious to Victor.

 

The Captain goes and kneels before him. His hands rub up Yuuri’s blanket swathed thighs, over the muscles Victor knows are aching and locked in shivers. Yuuri lets out a sigh.

 

“Want a bath?” Victor asks, voice respectfully quiet as Yuuri relaxes under his hands.

 

“Please,” Yuuri sighs, and holds his arms out for Victor to help him up.

 

In the bathroom, Yuuri is calm as Victor strips him down. He’s still in the long t-shirt, having been covered by the blanket when visitors came by, and Victor peels it off along with the boxers that are also Victor’s, before tossing them towards the hamper. Then Victor eases him into the water.

 

Yuuri hisses a little at the heat, but when he’s in it he sighs happily and lets himself go loose. Victor grabs the measuring jug he’s accosted from the kitchen and fills it with water. Yuuri’s unresponsive as Victor tips the jug repeatedly over him, but it’s the first time his shivers seem to stop properly.

 

Victor washes Yuuri’s hair. The siren’s head is tipped back, Victor’s hand cupped at his hairline to prevent soap trickling into Yuuri’s eyes. As the black, slick locks trail between his fingers, Victor has the overwhelming desire to use them to pull Yuuri close and tuck the siren deep within himself, somewhere out of sight.

 

Yuuri’s very relaxed by the end of his soak. The steam softens the edges of the room and the only noise is the sloshing of water as Victor rinses the last suds from Yuuri’s body. So Victor draws him out wordlessly, and wraps his siren in a fresh towel.

 

“There,” Victor murmurs, his hands busy drying Yuuri, feeling it’s the best thing he’s done all day.

 

Yuuri hums in response. His head is dipped down, seemingly happy to let Victor dry him.

 

Then Yuuri dresses, with Victor’s help, in one of his long, poncho like pieces of clothing, which swamps his entire body in colourful, pastel colours. Yuuri lets out a noise that’s almost a purr when he’s fully encased in the thing. Victor has to admit it does look comfy, although he prefers Yuuri in his clothes.

 

Then it’s back to the couch as Victor heats up Leo’s potato bake. The flan remains untouched in the fridge.

 

“We’d have a full fridge without ever going down to the kitchens if you were sick every week, my sun,” Victor says, bringing over two steaming portions of the bake in bowls so it’s easy to hold. “My nerves may not fare so well though.”

 

He places his own bowl on the coffee table and offers to feed Yuuri instead. The siren huffs a laugh and pushes him away, grabbing the dish and helping himself. Apparently spoon feeding is one step too far.

 

Although the bake is heavy, Yuuri manages to eat a fair bit of it before giving up. He must be hungry from only having half a bowl of soup all day. He settles in his usual place, leant against Victor as the Captain finishes his own food.

 

“You know Yuri will be annoyed if we leave his pirozhkis untouched,” Yuuri points out, stifling a yawn as he speaks.

 

“He’ll live,” Victor counters, finally abandoning his empty bowl to the floor and tucking Yuuri in under his arm. “I’ll probably come foraging for them later though.”

 

“It’s not foraging if you find it in the kitchen, Vitya.”

 

“You don’t know Selenian customs. Everything is foraging.”

 

Yuuri huffs, apparently not fooled by this, but then smiles as Victor flicks on some music with the help of his watch.

 

“You’re an incurable sap, Victor Nikiforov,” Yuuri tells him as sultry, French lyrics wash over them. He nuzzles his nose into the underside of Victor’s jaw.

 

It’s funny how Yuuri gets that Victor’s music taste is sappy, that it’s one more thing he’s plucked out of Victor’s head and interpreted the context for himself.

 

“Maybe you should sing for me instead,” Victor says, twirling a finger in Yuuri’s hair and then letting the lock fall back into place. “Your voice sounds a little better.”

 

It’s unfair that the siren should still look this gorgeous when he’s ill. It’s not giving Victor’s poor heart a break at all.

 

“Maybe,” Yuuri agrees, though clearly has no intention of doing so.

 

Victor manages to have a whole half hour of peace with his love. Yuuri’s breathing is still making something ache inside him, the occasional coughing fit ending with Victor’s hands soothing over Yuuri’s back and offering him sips of water. But it’s calm and quiet, the best balm for a stressful day.

 

And even though Otabek interrupts it to do a check up, he is at least respectful of the peace.

 

“How’re you doing, Yuuri?” the Doctor asks gently, settling to one side in an armchair after Victor lets him in.

 

“Better,” Yuuri assures him as Victor retakes his seat beside him. “Still cold and coughing, but I’m definitely better.”

 

“Good,” Otabek says, offering the hint of a smile at the siren. Victor’s really quite alarmed at the frequency of actual facial expressions they’re seeing from him today. “It probably helps that you’ve been up and about as much as possible, gets things moving in your chest. Have your coughs been wet at all?”

 

Yuuri wrinkles his nose at this and shakes his head.

 

“I think they will be by tomorrow,” Otabek says, frowning in apology. “You have all the signs of an infection, which means phlegm as well as inflammation. I’m sorry it was the vaccines that did it.”

 

“It’s okay,” Yuuri assures him, and his eyelids are heavy again as he watches Otabek lay his case out on the coffee table. “I need them so I can meet more of Vitya’s kind.”

 

Victor has the sudden, intense need to look away. He doesn’t though, instead drawing the siren closer, throat a little tight. Yuuri looks up at him, and then frowns.

 

“Stop that,” he says.

 

“What?” Victor asks, surprised back from where his thoughts have gone.

 

“Blaming yourself,” Yuuri replies.

 

Victor, touched if a little unnerved by how easily Yuuri can read him, plants a kiss on the siren’s forehead by way of response.

 

Otabek repeats the process of taking Yuuri’s temperature. As he’s awake this time, he also checks Yuuri’s throat and listens to his lungs.

 

“Yes I can hear the rattle,” Otabek says as he packs away his stethoscope.

 

Victor loves stethoscopes, how even though medicine’s come on in leaps and bounds, the most affordable and effective way to listen to someone’s chest is through this old timey device. But at the moment he’s too concerned to enjoy the instrument.

 

“Is that bad?” he asks, wrapping his arm back where it belongs around Yuuri.

 

Yuuri squeezes his free hand. It’s the most comforting pressure there is.

 

“No it’s normal,” Otabek explains, snapping his case shut. “It’s why I said I think there’ll be phlegm. Honestly, it’s fascinating that Yuuri’s body is displaying sickness in a way that’s at all similar to ours. Fascinating but a good sign, I know how to handle it.”

 

Otabek tacks on this last bit when he sees Victor’s face at his calling Yuuri’s discomfort “fascinating”.

 

“Thank you, Doctor Altin,” Yuuri sighs, relaxing into Victor as he nods politely at Otabek. “You and Sara have been great.”

 

Otabek, usually unaffected by Yuuri’s charms unlike the rest of the crew, seems to brighten at this.

 

“Thank you,” he says, that deep voice of his lightened in a way that’s usually reserved for Plisetsky. “Get some rest, Yuuri. If you’re feeling up to it in the morning, I’d like you to come down to the medbay so we can have a proper look at you.”

 

“Will do, Doctor,” Yuuri agrees, and Otabek bids them goodnight.

 

They don’t stay up long after that even though it’s still early. Victor puts Yuuri to bed and climbs in beside him. He stays sitting up as he works out the kinks of Yuuri’s aching muscles, soothes the ones in his shoulders, stomach and sides that are wrecked from coughing.

 

Yuuri’s all loose and languid by the end of it, but he’s still a little congested so Victor fetches one of the teas Sara bought and makes him a draft. Victor settles beside him, breathing in the smell of lemon and honey. The tea’s the nice kind, not artificial tasting but Yuuri still wrinkles his nose. No doubt it’s an insult to the art of siren tea making.

 

“Sara is thoughtful,” he concedes though, and Victor smiles, agreeing completely.

 

When they do drift off to sleep, their night is only a little disturbed by the illness, for which Victor’s grateful. Yuuri needs rest. And when they wake in the morning Yuuri’s temperature is thankfully a little lower.

 

* * *

 

Victor knows he’s supposed to be working today.

 

“Are you _sure_ you’re feeling better?” he’s asking instead, hovering around Yuuri as he does up the button of his uniform collar.

 

Yuuri, who’s sat on the edge of the bed in one of his looser dresses with sleeves, showered and cleaned by Victor’s hand, just smiles patiently up at him.

 

“Yes, Vitya,” he assures him, and Victor doesn’t miss the way his eyes rake down the line of his uniform. At least he’s not the only vulnerable one.

 

“Hmm…” Victor hums non committedly.

 

Yuuri stands.

 

“Think of it this way,” he poses, stepping forward to run his hands up Victor’s arms until they come to a rest over his collarbone. “The sooner you get down there and convince Lilia and the Council that I’m a harmless muffin then the easier this will all be for us.”

 

“Whilst you are a muffin,” Victor agrees with a grin, looping his arms around Yuuri’s waist to pull him close, “you are by no means harmless, my eldritch creature.”

 

Yuuri glows at that, probably liking this version of compliment that panders to his violent streak best.

 

“They don’t need to know that,” he points out.

 

Victor kisses him, because it’s the only reasonable thing left to do. When they break apart Yuuri gives him a little push.

 

“Go on,” he says.

 

“Kay,” Victor returns, gaze lingering on Yuuri’s lips. “See you later, my sun.”

 

“Bye, Vitya.”

 

* * *

 

A day later Victor comes down with an awful flu, the mutation of which Otabek can only marvel over.

 

“Fascinating,” the Doctor observes, as Victor throws up in the medbay. “It’s adapted to Yuuri’s strong immune system and given you this.”

 

Victor can only glare at him over the edge of the bucket.

 

Yuuri of course, is every bit of a mess Victor was and never once leaves his side.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone's reading my other multichapter fic EotC, which gets updated weekly, there won't be a chapter tomorrow as per the usual. For reasons stated above and that this fic only has a couple of chapters left in it, so the climax of the piece, and they deserve proper attention.
> 
> Thanks again, sorry I'm not my usual goofy self. Love you all.


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